


you might roll your eyes at this

by mizzmarvel



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzmarvel/pseuds/mizzmarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn is hard when you're not used to the weather changing. It's even worse when you're alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you might roll your eyes at this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piscaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/gifts).



Jeff's been in Connecticut for weeks now, but he still jolts awake every morning, his heart racing, not remembering where he is. Then his eyes focus, taking in the staid, almost guest-room bland decor of his Stoneybrook bedroom, and it all comes back to him.

 _We just need a little time to focus on us,_ Jeff's dad had said on the ride to John Wayne Airport. For the first time in years, Carol was not with them for the short drive. _It'll probably just be for a semester, tops._

 _And having a teenager around isn't really easing the tension,_ he hadn't said. He didn't have to. Jeff could read between the lines. But judging by the redness that seems to ring his dad's eyes all the time now and by the number of times Jeff's overheard Carol crying herself to sleep, a semester isn't going to save their marriage.

His Stoneybrook house, at least, is quiet. When he goes downstairs, still barefoot and in his pajama pants, Mom and Richard have already left for work. It's a staff-only day at school, which means he's on his own, and there's a strong possibility his mom might have left a list of chores to do or food he could heat up for lunch, but God only knows where she would have left it—the crisper drawer in the fridge? underneath the teakettle? her own coat pocket? He doesn't have the energy to look.

Jeff microwaves some organic steel-cut oatmeal and slices a banana into it, then sits down in the kitchen to eat alone. The oatmeal's a little too thin, watery, not nearly as good as Mrs. Bruen would have made, and the house is so still that it seems to echo when he sets his spoon on the table.

Quiet is not always a good thing.

From his seat, Jeff can see through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the front yard. The fire that'd destroyed the original farmhouse five years ago never touched the trees, so they're large and healthy and shedding more leaves with every day. The lawn is covered in them, big swathes of brown dotted with red and gold, and Jeff is pretty sure "Rake the Yard" is at the top of that missing chore list.

And through it all comes a boy about Jeff's age, with hair as brown as the leaves he's scattering in his wake. Byron—Jeff can pick out each of the identical Pike triplets on sight now, based just on how they carry themselves. Byron moves with a slightly slower, dreamier sort of pace. You can pass Byron the street and say hi and he'll just keep on walking, lost in his own head.

Sure enough, Byron seems to be in no particular hurry, kicking his way through the leaves strewn across the walkway. Jeff's already on the porch, ready to greet him, by the time Byron gets to the front door.

"Hey," Jeff says, crossing his arms against the unwelcome blast of chilly air. He's still getting used to the fact that the East Coast actually cools down in October. "What's up?"

Byron's smiling, and his cheeks are pink from walking through the cold. "Just seeing what you're doing. The house, it's—everyone's home, so..." He trails off with a slightly sheepish shrug. Byron told Jeff once that he doesn't understand how anyone can get tired of quiet, having only known the noise of an overly full Pike house. Jeff figures that's why he's been coming here more and more—to bask in the stillness.

Jeff steps back and opens the door, moving aside so Byron can walk in first. "Yeah, yeah, the usual story. Just using me for my empty rooms."

"I am not!" Byron protests. Once inside, he shrugs off his coat and starts unwinding his obviously homemade, slightly lumpy scarf. Probably something one of his siblings made him; Jeff thinks Vanessa and Nicky are the ones who are learning to knit. "Do you really think that?"

Byron actually looks a little anxious, which is pretty typical—the sensitive triplet and all that. Jeff can't help but smile. "Nah. I think you're also here to try some of the carob-currant flaxseed clusters my mom baked last night. Maybe with a big glass of almond milk?"

Byron's expression quickly evolves from anxious to _alarmed_. "Those can't actually be real. Those are just random words you strung together, right?"

In fact, they are real, but even Jeff thinks they're repulsive. "It's either that or..." He does a quick mental grocery inventory, trying to come up with something that won't gross out Byron. "Hot chocolate?"

"Real hot chocolate?" Byron asks suspiciously as they wander into the kitchen. 

"Yeah. I think Richard snuck it in. Swiss Miss," he adds, though he has no idea if that's actually a selling point.

Either way, Byron seems satisfied by that answer. "Okay. Want me to make it?"

"Please," Jeff says gratefully. He's barely tasted hot chocolate, let alone made any. "Top cabinet." 

Byron spares the counter a short glance before he hops onto it, raising himself to his knees on the marble so he can open the cabinet and peer inside. "This one?"

"Yeah." 

"I don't see it." Byron leans in a little so he can shuffle stuff around, which makes his shirt ride up in the back, revealing a few inches of bare, pale skin. After a moment, Jeff remembers to avert his eyes; it's only polite. "Oh, hey, here it is. He must've really hid it."

"Probably," Jeff says, taking the box Byron hands down before he hops back to the floor. "Mom hates this kind of stuff. She'd probably divorce him if she found it."

As soon as the dumb joke leaves his mouth, he wishes he could call it back, make it disappear. It doesn't matter that Carol and Dad aren't actually here to feel horrible about it. _He_ feels horrible about it, and somehow he's sure it's only going to add to the bad karma of the situation.

But Byron doesn't seem to think so. He doesn't even look up from the packet of cocoa powder he's reading as he says, "No way. People don't get divorced over something so dumb." Jeff starts to feel a little better, and Byron leans across him to grab two clean mugs from the drying rack, adding, "But I'd at least ask for a separation over carrot-curry whatever clusters," and Jeff bursts out laughing.

It only takes a couple minutes to heat up the water and stir in the packets of powder. The hot chocolate smells nice, at least—cheerful, filling up the empty house—and it's satisfying for Jeff to wrap his hands around his warm mug. 

But before he can take a drink, Byron says, "Hold it. We need marshmallows. Do you have any?"

"Try the dessert stuff," Jeff says, nodding to a small cabinet by the fridge. "They'll be vegan, though." 

"That's okay." Byron opens the cabinet door and emerges triumphant with a half-full bag. "How many do you want?"

"You're the expert." 

After a moment of consideration, Byron gives them each three, then returns the marshmallow bag to its place. This time, though, when he closes the cabinet door, he's holding a piece of paper and frowning down at it. "This was in there—I think it's a list or something for you."

"Leave it. It's no big deal." And Jeff's schedule for the day has started to fill up.

Byron shrugs, puts the note on the counter, and picks up his hot chocolate. "Want to take these out to the porch? It'll be kind of nice out there."

Jeff can't see how—it's _cold_ —but he says, "Sure" anyway and follows Byron back out the door.

Once they're outside, though, leaning against the railing and looking out over the lawn, he starts to understand. There's something about the contrast of the cool air and the heat of the mug against his palms, feeling the steam of the hot chocolate rise into his face, that's strangely appealing. The hot chocolate itself, however, is _not_ appealing—there's barely a hint of chocolate flavoring, and the marshmallows are quickly dissolving into a soggy mess.

Next to him, Byron is happily slurping away. "This is awesome," he says on a contented sigh, leaning in to lightly bump shoulders with Jeff. And Jeff knows it's dumb—maybe _Byron_ would think it's dumb—but something clenches deep in Jeff's chest, and for the first time all day, he feels warm on the inside.

"Yeah," he answers, still staring out at the lawn. From here, the trees don't look so bad. "Pretty awesome."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed your treat, Piscaria! Thank you to PoisonIvory for the beta! 
> 
> Title comes from "The Reasons" by the Weakerthans:  
>    
>  _I know,_  
>  _You might roll your eyes at this,_  
>  _But I'm so_  
>  _Glad that you exist._


End file.
